


Cry Wolf

by ArsenicHazard



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Abandoned Mansion, Fear, Halloween, Ireland, M/M, Travel, Tricks, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:35:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22624147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArsenicHazard/pseuds/ArsenicHazard
Summary: John and Sherlock head to Ireland to investigate reports of a werewolf.(Originally written for Inktober 2016)
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 1
Kudos: 17





	Cry Wolf

Mycroft had called them earlier that week to bring up the news of a case in Ireland. Of course, this international case was something that had interested Sherlock, dropping everything to get ready for. Greystones, the town just south of Dublin, was reported to be haunted by a werewolf, and Sherlock being Sherlock, wanted to crack this case and prove to everyone that the ‘supernatural’ didn’t exist.

John was interested for a completely separate reason, to which he had been trying to question the detective about fears. In light of Halloween approaching, John had begun to ask Sherlock what he was afraid of.

“Nothing.” Sherlock replied with nonchalance as he packed an overnight bag. They had just finished breakfast –John insisting that Sherlock eat something before they left for the plane- and they were now packing the last things. 

“Not even, I don’t know, death? Or scary monsters?” John teased with a grin, grabbing their coats and Sherlock’s scarf. 

“As I have told you on several occasions, John; my body is just transport. There is no reason to fear anything when fear itself is just something that will deter my investigation.”

“Not even ghosts?” John urged, biting back a laugh that rose in his throat. His tone was only joking, doing its job to mildly annoy Sherlock.

“Ghosts aren’t real.” The taller man said, moving out of his room, down to the front door with his bag, searching for any last things. “Got everything, John?” He called as the other followed him to the door. 

The two men made their way to the waiting car outside, climbing in and were taken to the airport. John didn’t bring up fears again as they passed security, boarding the plane heading for the Dublin airport. Upon takeoff, however, John spoke again, huffing. “Heights?” He asked (to Sherlock’s dismay). He had thought John would have dropped the subject, but it seemed the spirit of Halloween was something that John thoroughly enjoyed.

“Oh for god’s sake,” he groaned, “no, John. I’m not afraid of anything. Not heights, not death, not even bombs-“ several other passengers swiveled their heads to look at the two of them. John cast him an urgent expression, silently telling him to speak quietly. Sherlock lowered his voice with a huff, looking at John. “ _ Nothing. _ So lay off, will you?”

John sighed, shaking his head as he leaned back, not speaking any further throughout the flight. By the time they reached the Dublin Airport and got the car that brought them to Greystones, it was nearing dinnertime. They went to a little restaurant close to their inn, then went to meet with the police department in town who brought them to the house that was in question. Night had begun to fall by the time they had started to look around, approaching the mansion across the moor.

“Sherlock-“ John started, stopping where he was, “what’s that?”

Sherlock glanced over at John who was staring ahead of him. Looking back, all he saw was the faint blur of a silhouette, the thing moving back into the darkness of the house. “Oh Christ, John. Don’t be serious. You’re still going on about this fear thing? It was likely just a cat. This place is abandoned, which is the perfect spot for animals to take over.”

John gave him a mischievous grin. “Ooooo Sherlock, I think it was the werewolf! Oh no, I’m getting scared!”

The detective rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he continued to walk. “You’re insufferable.”

Reaching the rundown mansion, Sherlock opened the door, pulling out his flashlight. John followed behind him, watching the taller man scope out the front hallway. Smirking to himself, he shut the door behind them with a slam. Sherlock whirled around, at first ready to attack whatever was behind him, but his expression withered to anger as John laughed. 

“I’m a scary monster!” He joked, grinning as Sherlock groaned, turning around again. They moved throughout the entrance, reaching a grand staircase made of stone. The wind could be heard, the windows broken from the years of abandon. Sherlock angled his light up the stairs, then down the hall to their right. “Let’s split up. John, check the upper floor, see if anything is unusual. Call if you need me.”

“We split up in Baskerville, I am  _ not _ doing that again.” John protested, frowning. He could still remember the fright he had gotten from the mist. There was no way he was going to subject himself to that again. Sherlock seemed unamused, not taking no for an answer. “Do you forget that in the end it was just some men trying to keep a secret? Relax, John. Besides,” he murmured, his tone challenging the other, “you wouldn’t want me to think you were actually  _ scared _ would you?”

John gritted his teeth as the detective used his words against him. No, no he was  _ not _ scared; he was an ex-soldier. Moving up the stairs, he heard Sherlock make his way down the hall, opening several creaky doors. John looked around for about a minute before he crept towards one of the broken windows, having a good view of Sherlock who had ventured into the small courtyard below. He let out a low howl, watching the man draw his gun, pointing his flashlight in the direction of the sound. His eyes landed on John who laughed as he heard a very aggravated groan.

“John!” He yelled. “I am reconsidering bringing you on any more cases!” 

Sherlock turned to continue looking around as another howl sounded in the same direction. The taller man narrowed his eyes, now rather furious with the childish tricks of his partner. “John!” He screamed, irritated. Looking up to where John was in the window, he expected the other man to be laughing; he wasn’t.

“Sherlock,” the army doctor said, his voice just barely heard through the wind, “ _ that wasn’t me _ .”


End file.
